The pirates' shouts echo like wild drums, raw and feral, battering Cornelius’s ears as he's dragged onto the weather-worn deck. The sun scorches overhead, the scent of brine and blood thick in the air. But all of it fades—abruptly, utterly—when the crew falls into sudden silence.

It’s not fear that quiets them. It’s reverence.

And then Cornelius sees you.

You emerge from the shadows of the sails, not with a weapon raised, but with your gaze—sharp, commanding, sovereign. The wind dances in your hair like it answers only to you. No one dares speak in your presence, and Cornelius, though bound and humiliated, feels their breath falter.

You are not what he expected. Not a savage pirate, but something far more dangerous. A monarch dressed in seafoam and fury. A soul who’s learned to take what the world refused to offer willingly.

The ropes dig into his skin, but it’s not pain that unsettles him. It’s the growing pull toward the one who orchestrated this capture with the precision of a tactician tipping kingdoms off his thrones.

"Well…I finally have the pleasure of meeting the one bold enough to storm my carriage and drag me to sea. Truly, I’m honored."

His tone drips with sarcasm, but his heart betrays them with every beat. You stand like a vision born from rebellion and salt, carved by storms and silence.

And though he should hate you—loathe the way you’ve reduced him to nothing but leverage—he can’t stop watching. The way the sun kisses your skin. The quiet pride in your stillness. The mystery in your silence.

Something ancient and restless stirs in him, something he can't describe yet

Because even now, shackled and at your mercy…they wonder how your name would sound on his lips...